


Aftershocks

by trufflemores_Glee_fic



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 03:46:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores_Glee_fic/pseuds/trufflemores_Glee_fic
Summary: Post-"Shooting Star," Blaine calls Kurt.





	Aftershocks

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everybody! After receiving multiple requests to repost my old Glee fics, I have created a second AO3 account to do so. I hope you can forgive me for flooding the Glee pages over the next few days. 
> 
> I also ask for kindness regarding the quality of these fics. Over on my main AO3 account (trufflemores), I have written over 150 Flash fics; end result, my current work is of a higher quality than these older pieces. But I know how beloved old fics can be, and I respect that something I consider sub-par can be someone else's favorite. 
> 
> So I hope you enjoy this fic and any others you choose to read. If you choose to do so, I would also be happy to have you on board 'The Flash' bandwagon as well.
> 
> Kick back, relax, and enjoy. You have been one of the greatest audiences I have ever had.
> 
> Affectionately yours,  
> trufflemores

Blaine couldn't sleep that night.

He tried.  He waited until his mind had gone pleasantly numb before crawling underneath the covers and closing his eyes, attempting to sneak his way into unconsciousness.  But he floated, hyperaware of his surroundings, unable to let go even when his conscious mind begged for release.  He focused on breathing in and out slowly until even that became a point of anxiety, his breath quickening, heart racing until he could take the pressure of being trapped underneath the blankets and suffocating in his own mind no more.  Standing led to pacing, and pacing led to compulsively flipping through his iPod in search of something, anything, to drown out the metronome tick-tocking in his skull.  There was no respite from the darkness, though, and turning on the lights did little to help.

Try though he might, he couldn't escape the lingering certainty that he hadn't escaped the danger at all, that it was still there, waiting to snatch him when he least suspected it.

Drowsy and emotionally wrung out, he didn't register the persistent buzzing of his cell phone until his third pass across the bed, glancing over and nearly ripping the earbuds out of his ears in his haste to answer the call.

"Kurt?"  He swallowed, but his mouth was bone dry, making his voice even raspier than usual.  He tried again and his voice actually cracked; biting his lip, he sat on the edge of the bed, hunching in on himself as he clung to the phone with one hand.  "I feel like I'm losing my mind," he said, voice hushed and quick, talking over Kurt's quiet, abortive little Blaine.  "I can't -- nothing happened and I feel like I'm falling apart."  Curling inward, he begged, over and over, "Please make it stop.  Please, please make it stop."

"Make what stop?"  Kurt's voice was quiet, calming.  No distractions tonight; they'd already talked to each other twice, once in the immediate aftermath, and again several hours later, when Blaine's stomach had stopped rebelling long enough for him to call and explain everything from the minute that he had stepped into the choir room up to the present, where he'd been sitting on the couch, his dad rereading an old copy of Lord of the Rings at his side.  Blaine had known that he'd had better things to do, that he had work, but he couldn't find it in him to send him away.  In the fog that seemed to rest over his thoughts nothing else seemed to matter than being alive, and sitting against his dad's side and talking to his former boyfriend was a strange and oddly comforting exercise.

Now, though, with his parents away and asleep -- it was already creeping past three in the morning, Blaine realized, sparing a quick glance at his clock -- he was alone, and the sense of calm normalcy that had been seeping into him by the time he bade his parents good night was gone.

His silence had dragged out so long, interrupted only by his own thin, slightly panicked breathing, that it was only Kurt's, "Honey?" that pulled him away from full hysteria.  "Breathe, please.  You'll make yourself sick."

It was almost better being sick, though, in a twisted way, because the unpleasantness of the whole business distracted him from his thoughts.

Still, Kurt was right, and it was late, and the last thing he wanted to do was spend another hour dry-heaving.

So he listened to his own breaths, dropping his head in his hand to cradle it as he slowly, slowly brought his breathing down from a high staccato to a far calmer tempo.  Feeling the white noise retreat from the edges of his senses, he picked up his still-playing iPod and turned it off, trying not to panic outright again as he let out a long breath.

"I don't -- I don't know what to do," he hiccoughed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a headache already burning fiercely behind his eyelids.

"Lie down," Kurt suggested gently.

Sighing, Blaine nodded and shuffled around until his head rested on the pillow, not bothering to turn out the light.  "Okay," he said.

"Lights out?"

A heavy swallow, and then: "Kurt."

It was Kurt's time to say okay, but he didn't seem fazed at all.  Instead, he assured, "I'm right here."

Blaine closed his eyes and willed it to be real, listening to Kurt's voice as he added calmly, "You should hear the email that Isabelle sent me this morning."

"Tell me," Blaine replied.  Any distraction was a good distraction.

"Dear Mr. Hummel," Kurt began, inflecting a slightly haughty, playfully embellished impersonation of Isabelle Wright's voice, unaware of the tiny smile on Blaine's lips as he spoke, "I'm pleased to inform you that your latest scarf designs were approved by none other than Ms. Anna Wintour herself.  Further proof that you're destined to be the next bestseller, should you choose to pursue a career in fashion.  You truly have a gift and I'm happy to see that you're using it; it's not every day that I meet a person with so much potential.  Also, the department loves to celebrate, so we're planning on going out for drinks this weekend.  Let me know if you're available.  Ms. Isabelle Wright."

"Kurt, that's amazing," Blaine said, lulled into an almost sleepy state in spite of himself.  He loved listening to Kurt talk, and Kurt had such a soothing voice, perfect for anything, really. 

Even so, the ache of longing in his chest had transformed into a full-blown lump in his throat as he listened to Kurt speak for the first time, it seemed, since they'd talked nearly three days ago, that conversation already forgotten.

Blaine didn't even know what his last words had been, but he hoped that I love you had made it into that speech. 

Curling a hand into the fabric of the pillow at his side, he said, "Kurt?"

"Hm?" Kurt said, breaking off mid-sentence.  Blaine felt a momentary flash of guilt at interrupting him -- at not listening in the first place -- before it was gone, retreating from sleep and despair alike.

"Keep talking," he breathed, wondering if he should put his phone on speaker so he wouldn't have to hold it but deciding that he liked the sound of Kurt's voice too much to put it down.

He didn't know the exact moment that he dozed off, hand cradled loosely around his phone as Kurt spoke and nurtured a proverbial torch to keep the demons of his imagination away.

When Blaine woke, it was still dark and his mouth was more cottony than ever, cheek pressed against the slightly-warmed metal of his phone.  The first thing that he noticed was that the lights were out; the next, that someone had pulled the covers up and tucked him in properly; and the last, that a funny little sound kept coming from his phone.

Prying it off his cheek with a slow, heavy hand, Blaine lifted it and was about to hit end when he realized that the sound was Kurt sleeping, his breaths just loud enough to hear over the line.

The responsible thing to do, Blaine knew, was to wake him and say good night and talk to him again in the morning.

But the mere notion of shutting Kurt out seemed unbearable.

And so Blaine lingered long enough to reach the same edge of sleep as before, whispering, "I love you, I love you, I love you," over and over and willing it to be heard.

Finally, faint, mumbled, he caught a soft hum and a simple, "Love 'ou, too," the sole interruption to Kurt's easy sleep.

Scared and tired but grateful that he had Kurt to be with him in the dark, Blaine surrendered to his dreams, relinquishing consciousness at last.

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. Please let me know if there are any weird coding errors in the fic! I did my best to weed them out before publication, but some will inevitably slip through the cracks.


End file.
